


Don't worry, it's just for fun

by thestrangestbyer



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Bisexual Richie Tozier, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 15:56:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14476110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestrangestbyer/pseuds/thestrangestbyer
Summary: They're partners in crime. They're maybe in like-like with each other.Couple of Beverly/Richie prompts from my tumblr for u all





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> they do have p serious relationships here but I hc both of these characters as having a sweet romantic fling or whatever before moving on and staying platonic soulmates.

For the entire time that Richie had known and been friends with Beverly Marsh, she had never uttered the words “beep-beep Richie” to him, to make him shut up. Sure, she would snap at him if he got too loud, or mutter “shut the fuck up, Tozier” if he got too crass, but she never, ever used “beep-beep Richie”. He tried not to dwell on what it could mean.

  
He was twirling her around, at his seventeenth birthday party, as music pounded in the background. She was laughing, her head thrown back, and Richie grinned, sending her spinning out into the crowd before catching her hand again and pulling her back in. The room was hot and packed tightly with bodies, and the two of them were pushed close together. She looked radiant, breath-taking, and it was all Richie could do to keep up with her, the relentless force of nature that was Beverly Marsh.

  
She twined her arms around his neck and pressed up onto her tiptoes to yell in his ear over the music.

  
“It’s hot in here, smoke break?” She suggested, out of breath, and her lips brushed over his ear. Richie nodded and they pushed and stumbled their way through the crowd and out into his back yard. They slumped over a little, panting. They’d been dancing for hours. Richie wiped at his brow.

  
“Fucking hell, Miss Marsh,” He said, with a grin, accepting a cigarette from her and leaning back against the wall.

  
“What a workout, right?” Bev said with a laugh and Richie waggled his eyebrows.

  
“I can think of better ways to workout,” Richie leered and Bev burst out laughing.

  
“Shut it, Rich,” She said, fondly and they fell into comfortable silence. They talked together, a lot, but silence was easy with them both. More time to smoke, anyway.

  
“Hey, Bevvie, how come you never beep me?” He asked, suddenly, into the quiet, and Bev glanced at him, questioningly, as if surprised he would ask. She shrugged.

  
“I wasn’t around when the boys started using it on you.” She said. “Besides, that’s what we do together. Talk shit. I need my Trashmouth on form.” Her cigarette hung loosely from her fingers and Richie pouted in mock offence.

  
“Is that all I am to you? Cheap entertainment?” He gasped theatrically and she rolled her eyes.

  
“Exactly. You’re a comedy genius, your jokes are just too funny to not have you around.” She deadpanned and Richie nodded agreeably, ignoring the sarcasm in her voice. Bev took his hand and stared at down at their intertwined fingers, contemplatively. Her sparkly red nails contrasted with Richie’s chipped black ones and she absently made a note to repaint them for him.

  
“Also, you know me, not much can offend or upset me.” She explained, nudging him gently with her shoulder.

  
“Yeah.” Richie said, exhaling smoke. “You are a Tough cookie. My favourite badass.” She pinched him in the side, rolling her eyes, but leaned into him. He wrapped his arm around her automatically and held her tight.

  
“Besides.” Bev added, looking up at him “I like most of what you have to say." She thought for a second.

"Most of what you say," She amends. And then, softly: "I don’t ever really want you to shut up.”

  
Richie blinked at her in surprise. Their relationship together didn’t usually involve this much open honesty. They traded jokes and insults; gossiped and smoked. They usually read between the lines for the deeper stuff, and both preferred physical comfort to talking when things got rough for either of them, hugs and hand-holding winning out over any meaningless platitudes.

  
And now this fucking amazing girl- his best friend, smoking buddy, whatever- had just told him that she liked the things Richie had to say. That she preferred it when he talked to her, when they really talked to each other. And he realise suddenly that she wasn’t just his smoking buddy. She was Beverly fucking Marsh. The definition of gorgeous; funny, smart and badass as hell. Shitty parents and a smoking addiction might’ve initially brought them together, but as he stared at her, he realised that he hadn’t spent a day without her since they’d met. She was a whole damn part of him.

  
“I fucking love you, Beverly Marsh” Richie said, abruptly and Beverly stilled and then smiled into his shoulder, squeezing their joined hands.

  
“I love you too, Tozier” She said. She stubbed her cigarette out in the grass decisively, and impulsively grabbed his head in her hands and turned him to face her. His eyes were wide, especially under his glasses. She laughed at his dumb, bewildered face and then she kissed him, hard, on the mouth. Richie made such a comically startled noise that she nearly snorted in his face.

  
He was suddenly gentle in a way that he never normally was, his hands hovering awkwardly for a moment before coming to rest on her waist. He held her carefully, not like she was fragile, but just as if she was important, and let her kiss him. Moments later, she pulled away.

  
“Fucking hell.” Richie said hoarsely, and licked his lips. She smirked at him and he just stared back, apparently in a daze. The silence was kind of stifling now and he didn’t say anything more. Just stared at her like she’d revealed some great worldly truth to him, the two of them drunk in his backyard.

  
“Happy birthday, Rich. That was your present, by the way.” She joked, to burst the bubble of tension and restore their normal balance, but to her surprise (and relief), he shook his head.

  
“Nuh-uh, nope, no way. That’s such a cop out.” He said, turning to her. “What I want for my birthday present is for you to go to the movies with me, at the Aladdin tomorrow.”

  
He raised his eyebrow at her challengingly, with a cocky grin. But his eyes were still wide, open and genuine and so hopeful. She considered him for a long moment. They’d joked about getting together tons of times, even if it was just for a bit of fun. But what he was proposing seemed slightly more serious. Her thoughts strayed momentarily, to the other Losers. The fact that her and Richie had had their first kiss with the same person. The way Ben looked at her still. The cautious way Richie sometimes looked at "his Eds."

But, fuck it. She tilted her head at him.

  
“Can we just put a tape on at your place, then make out all evening?”

  
Richie jumped to his feet and extended his hand to pull her up, too.

  
“You’re a fine lass after my own heart!” He declared and kissed her on the nose. He seemed to think about it for a minute, and then he kissed both of her cheeks with an obnoxiously loud smack of his lips, making her shove him. Trademark ttashmouth Tozier. 

  
“It sounds perfect, Bev. You’re perfect.” He said, softer, once he’d recovered from the push, and dipped down to kiss her once more. “Just stay the weekend, if ya want.” She blushed, something Richie could never normally get her to do, but damnit he was never this sweet on her. Richie himself looked giddy. She felt it a little herself, and made a mental note to enjoy this small piece of him, until shit got Complicated. 

  
“Come on then, my lady! The party awaits its King and Queen!” He yelled, bounding towards the door. She followed him in, the two running back onto the dance floor, and for the rest of the night they danced together, just a little bit closer than before.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another way Richie and Bev end up together.

It takes him a while to cotton on to the fact that Beverly is flirting with him.  
They’re lying in his bed trading insults, and she’s teasing him, though he’s not sure what about. Her voice is bright, full of amusement. Her laughter sort of drifts through the air lazily, and curls right around him, and the sound of it makes his stomach clench. He’s never felt like this.

  
He can smell her- vanilla lotion; that coconut shampoo Bev’s aunt has that she hates- and she’s warm and solid, pressed up against his side. When she lifts her arm to smoke, she grazes his hand, slow and deliberate. She’s being doing stuff like that a lot, recently. He sits up, abruptly, nearly pulling a muscle in his neck as he whips his head around to stare at her.

  
She jumps at the sudden movement and then laughs at herself.

  
“The hell?” She says but stops laughing when she catches sight of his expression. She leans in a little, her face concerned.

  
“Richie?” she says, confused.

  
He just continues to stare at her, his thoughts going a mile a minute. He thinks that she’s his best friend. She undresses in front of him all the time, they’re that chill around each other. They’re buddies, pals, partners in crime- and Bev’s flirting with him! Has been flirting with him. Teasing, buying him coffee, all these touches. He flails in his mind, thinking of how to address it. In a subtle way.

  
Make a move Richie, He thinks. Her hand is on his arm and she’s looking at him with a vaguely concerned expression. Mostly, though, she just looks annoyed and like she might punch him. Bevvie’s unpredictable like that. She’s too close; his brain short-circuits. What comes out of his mouth is this:

  
“Are you wearing a bra?”

  
She snorts. It’s loud. That’s what Richie loves about Bev: her grace, her elegance, her ladylike-ness.

  
“No, I took it off,” she says, slowly. She’s looking at him oddly, but there’s a faint amusement to her eyes. She’s laughing at him, he knows it.

  
“R-right,” he croaks, resolutely Not Looking at her chest. He can see the bra on his floor, too, and he resolutely does Not Look at that, either. He struggles to find the right words. “When did you do that?” He asks, because he’s apparently lost all sense of control, logic and dignity.

  
“When we got in. Fuck the patriarchy, bras are shackles.” She shrugs, lightly. Then she tilts her head and looks at him curiously. “I always take my bra off. They hurt at the end of the day, I told you. Are you okay?”

  
“Fine. ” Richie nods,emphatically, “Right. Yes. Free the nipple.”

  
She smiles at him, and there’s something evil about it. She leans in a little closer, and her hair tickles his neck.

  
“Plus, I just feel completely comfortable around you.” She says, simply, and Richie gapes at her. How did she make that sound sexy? How?! 

He points an accusing finger at her.

  
“You’ve been flirting with me.”

  
She frowns at him, and backs off a little.

  
“I don’t take my bra off for you.” She says. She glares, too. Richie thinks it’s for emphasis.

  
“I know!” Richie says, vaguely offended. “Bras are just wired cups of patriarchal oppression, you’ve told me a million times. My point is, you’ve been de-braing and flirting. At the same time! It’s like a double edged sword. Two for the price of one!”

She pauses at that, considering. He waits.

  
“I don’t think you used those phrases right.” Is all she says. Before he can reply, maybe crack a joke or two (there’s an innuendo in there somewhere, Richie can make an innuendo out of anything if he has too) she’s swung herself over him, so that she’s straddling his lap.   
He settles his hands on her hips, uncertainly, and he looks at her.

  
“Bit forward of you, Miss Marsh.” He grins. It’s the British guy, its awful, she nearly rolls right off of him and out of his room.

  
“Shut up,” She says, irritated. “I am being forward. This is me, being forward. Congratulations for picking up on it, by the way. I’ve only been flirting with you for a few months now.”

“What?!”

  
She throws her hands up in exasperation.

  
“I undress in front of you!” She cries and it does occur to him that, at 18 and 19 respectively, that isn’t such a “friend” thing to do. Just maybe. “Naked! How subtle can my hints and flirting be?”

  
“Oh.” Richie says, a little dumbly. And then: “Well, I just know to respect women’s bodies and their rights to not be sexualised.”

  
Bev groans, and shuts her eyes as if in pain.

  
“I can’t believe I like you,” she says. And then she kisses him.

  
It’s slow. Nice. Bev keeps her hand curved around his neck, and the pressure of her palm there is comforting. Her mouth is soft and warm and doesn’t really taste of anything at all, except from a trace of mint. Mints that she uses to try and hide the smell of smoke or alcohol from her aunt. Richie thinks that maybe they should just kiss like this forever, because it feels so right. Like nothing bad could ever happen. Then, Bev pulls back.

  
Richie clears his throat.

  
“So, whats the verdict?”

  
She surveys him critically for a moment and purses her lips. His eyes are automatically drawn to them, and she smirks. He hopes that he doesn’t look as flushed as he feels.

  
“Six out of ten.” She declares and he makes an outraged noise, like a pterodactyl screech.

  
“Six? Fucking six?!” He says, outraged. “My clients tell me that the Tozier experience is a ten! I’m magic, I’m incredible, the reviews tell all! Eddie’s mom can’t get enough of me.”

  
She dissolves into giggles, reluctantly. Except, it’s more like hyena laughter. Call him a sap, but Richie thinks that her laugh is beautiful, hyena or not. He panics for a second, thinking of the implications that they’d kissed (kissed!) and that it meant something. A kiss is a Something with a capital S, that Richie knows. Especially with someone like Bev, aka a force of nature and too good for this world.

  
“I really like you.” He says, abruptly. It seems really important to say, suddenly. Beverly grins but looks at him with a sickeningly soft expression. Oh god, they’re gonna be that couple. While it lasts, Bev thinks ruefully, and hopes Richie knows that. Her boys, the Losers, half their hearts in her hands. 

  
“I like you, too.” She says, very seriously. She kisses him, again- oh, there go the butterflies in his stomach, is that going to happen everytime?- and this time they collide awkwardly, his glasses smushing into her face. She sighs.

  
“Take your glasses off, I wanna make out.” She instructs. He laughs, delighted, and hurries to comply. He thinks he could be a little bit in love with Beverly Marsh, but he'll take this. They can just have this. 


End file.
